


The Road to the Conclave

by LSev7n



Series: Stories from the Dragon Age [7]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Arguing, Brother-Sister Relationships, Fear, Gen, Hero Worship, Mage Rebellion (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar Dynamics (Dragon Age), Mage-Templar War (Dragon Age), One Shot Collection, The Conclave (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-31 01:43:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21038603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LSev7n/pseuds/LSev7n
Summary: "Never think that war, no matter how necessary, nor how justified, is not a crime."Senior Enchanter Lydia was dead. One of the templars killed her. Chaos shortly followed.Evelyn Trevelyan watched the Ostwick Tower fall at the hands of power-mad templars. A year later, she is summoned to attend the Conclave. They're idiots if they think she's actually willing to sit peacefully across from those demons.





	The Road to the Conclave

_ The vote has passed. The Circles are officially dissolved. Mages are free of the Chantry. _

_ It is strange then that now I have the greatest reservations about this decision. I know it is right. But I also know that war will follow. _

_ Countless innocent mages will die. Some of them might not have even agreed with the Separation. Is it worth the cost? I suppose history will decide that now. _

_ In these difficult times, I am reminded of the Ancient Oaths of the Grey Wardens._

** _In War, Victory._ **

** _In Peace, Vigilance._ **

** _In Death, Sacrifice._ **

_ _ _ _ _ \- Grand Enchanter Fiona, 9:39 Dragon _ _ _ _ _

* * *

Senior Enchanter Lydia was dead. One of the templars killed her. Chaos shortly followed.

“We have to go,” Templar Cadan shouted over the screaming. The terrible, terrible screaming that would forever echo in her ears. 

Everything else was normal. The earthy scent of the air. The organized books and beds in front of her. But the screaming was enough to inform anyone of what was going on. 

“My friends are still here,” Evelyn said, standing her ground. Her fists curled into a tight ball, her clipped nails digging into her coarse skin.

“It’s too late for them. We have to go. Now.”

Evelyn stepped back, shaking her head. She straightened her fingers, sparks forming in her palms. She turned around, finally ready to take a stand. This was the moment she had been waiting for her entire life. The moment that defined a Hero. She would save her friends, stop the templars and liberate the Tower as a bastion of hope for all mages across Thedas.

A sharp pain jutted from the back of her head. Her vision swarmed. Her body became as light as a feather. She fell forward. Strong arms snaked around her stomach, catching her fall. “Sorry,” was the last words she heard, before passing out.

Evelyn blinked, but her eyelids stuck together. She blinked harder to force her eyes open. _ Where am I? _

She opened her eyes to a world flipped on its side. Or rather, she was lying on her side and sleeping on something hard. Her hands felt it, cracked wood. It was a sturdy bed, but one that made her muscles contort into the tightest knots possible.

Air brushed against her exposed skin, goosebumps rising at the point of contact. It was a light, cool breeze typical of the night. Below her, wheels of a carriage hissed on a dirt path. Occasionally, the wheels ran over rocks, causing the carriage to jerk up. Her body bumped up and down alongside it. 

Her head throbbed the moment she tried to lift herself up. It felt like someone was trying to squeeze it into a thin line. She clutched it, desperately hoping the pressure would alleviate the pain. Somehow, she managed to sit up. She was dizzy and her stomach gurgled like it was going to throw up. She took a few deep breaths - in and out, in and out - to steady herself. Slowly, the world started to orientate and stabilize itself. She hastily scrubbed the sleep out of her eyes and blinked to adjust them to the night. She observed her surroundings.

Lanterns dimly lit the dirt road. The orange-yellow light, which reminded Evelyn of fireflies, exposed the packet of trees surrounding the path. Each tree was scattered apart, plenty of space to their own. Shadows moved and morphed in that space. She swore she saw eyes stare back at her. 

The carriage was steadily climbing down a small hill. Up ahead, a sharp right awaited them. Evelyn recognized the path. It was the road to her Family Manor, where House Trevelyan - Andrastian and proud - resided.

“You’re awake.” Evelyn bolted up, fists clenched in front of her chest. She dropped them when she realized she wasn’t in danger. At the helm of the carriage was Templar Cadan. He was gently holding the horse’s rein, lifting them up and down in a fluid motion. He didn’t bother looking at her. 

Evelyn’s memories returned to her. Like taking a punch to the gut, it was overwhelming and stole her breath away. She closed her eyes, trying to comprehend everything, but all she heard was the screaming. It was so loud that Evelyn believed she was back at the Tower. Her friends were right there, within arm’s reach. She snapped her eyes open and paled. “What did you do?”

“I’m sorry, Lady Trevelyan. My orders were clear.”

Evelyn glanced at the road behind her. The crest of the hill hid the path they came from. “Turn around right now!” Evelyn growled. “That’s an order!”

“I cannot follow that order, Lady Trevelyan.”

“Because I’m a mage!?”

Templar Cadan slowly shook his head, still refusing to look at her. “Because your parents’ orders supersede yours.”

The blue ephemeral light of the moon shined on her, as if beckoning her to take action. The light spread to the dirt road and towards the horizon. If she followed it, Evelyn could make it back to Ostwick by sunrise. Maybe it wasn’t too late to save her friends. She had to try!

Evelyn rose up and ran forward. Metal ratted at her feet, jerking her to a complete halt. Her legs straightened out and she plummeted to the floor. Burning pain filled her knees. She pushed onto the wooden seat and tucked in her knees, rubbing them and wincing at the contact.

“I’m sorry, Lady Trevelyan,” Templar Cadan said. He didn’t sound sorry at all and she wouldn’t have accepted his apology if he was.  
Evelyn glared at the back of his head, hoping her eyes would burn a hole in it. When that didn’t happen, she turned to her shackles. They didn’t burn either. Sighing, Evelyn dropped her head into her lap. _I’m sorry everyone. I’m so, so sorry._

As a child, Evelyn thought the Family Manor was gorgeous. Everything was either made out of precious gems like gold and diamond or shined like it was. And it was extremely spacious, both on the inside and outside. Inside, her room was practically the size of the entire Apprentice Quarters. Outside, there was a beautiful courtyard near the entrance. Behind the Manor was a lush garden that her mother had forbidden her from entering. But, it was the woods surrounding the House that was her favorite. She enjoyed the freedom.

Only after growing up, did Evelyn realize that space did not make a good home. For as cramped and ugly as the Circle was, it was still home. There was a sense of community in the Tower. Apprentices, mages and Enchanters studied together, learned together and gossiped together. Never once did she walk from one class to another, without seeing at least five people she knew in the corridors. All gone in an instant. Home to only blood and death now.

_ I should have been there. I shouldn’t have been the one that got to escape _.

Once their carriage arrived in the courtyard, Templar Cadan unshackled her chains. The minute her legs were free, Evelyn kicked him across the face. He fell off the back of the carriage and landed in the dirt. His armor rattled from the fall. She sprinted off the carriage, raised her fist and swung it. 

Templar Cadan caught it. His other hand grabbed her arm. Twisting it, he toppled her off her feet. She literally ate dirt and gasped for air. He kept her arm twisted and locked in the air. Not enough to hurt, but enough to be deeply uncomfortable. 

“Enough, Lady Trevelyan. This is unbecoming of you.” Evelyn might have stood down if he didn’t say those words.

Growling, Evelyn sent a surge of electricity through her raised arm. The Templar yelped, moving back. He quickly recovered. He bent his knees, his hand went to the hilt of his sword. He wiped the blood trickling off his cracked lips. She had seen the stance so many times in the Tower. It was the standard warning to back off, one she had respected the templars for giving. But when it mattered most, Lydia didn’t get one. Her friends didn’t get one.

Evelyn rose to her feet, arm aimed at the Templar. No magic surged through it, but it didn’t matter. She was a mage. That was a threat in itself. After all, wasn’t that what the Chantry saw her kind as?

“What is going on here?” Bann Trevelyan shouted across the courtyard. He ran towards them, coming to a halt in-between the mage and templar. He was breathing hard, his hair becoming greyer than it already was. His sharp eyes narrowed on her. “What do you think you’re doing, Evelyn?” He said her name the same way he always did. Disappointment and disdain laced with a healthy dose of fear. The fear was the worst part.

Evelyn stared at him dumbfounded. She lowered her head and gazed at her palm. Sparks crackled, but she hastily snuffed them. “Of course, you blame me,” she scoffed under her breath, so quiet her father wouldn’t hear. 

Templar Cadan moved his hand away from his blade. He stiffly lowered onto one knee. “Bann Trevelyan,” he respectfully greeted. “It is not Lady Trevelyan’s fault. I take full responsibility for this incident.”

Evelyn narrowed her eyes at Templar Cadan. _ What angle are you playing? _

Bann Trevelyan’s gaze softened, if only slightly. His face was naturally hard, it came with the territory of being a Bann. He sighed, looking between templar and mage. “Your mother is waiting inside,” he told Evelyn, like she was a child being sent to her room.

Evelyn curtly nodded and walked towards the Manor. She dared to glance over her shoulder. She spotted her father’s hands on Templar Cadan’s shoulders. Bann Trevelyan was patting them, proudly smiling. Templar Cadan nodded along. 

Inside the Manor, Lady Trevelyan waited at the base of the staircase, that curved to the second floor. “Mother,” Evelyn greeted.

“Hello, Evelyn. It is good to see you alive and well. It was unfortunate what happened at the Tower,” her mother replied. She remained perfectly composed, her hands wrapped together at her waist and face at an impasse. The proper noble stance.

“Unfortunate. Right.”

Lady Trevelyan gave Evelyn an inquisitive look, but did not press further. “I am sure you are exhausted, so I will not keep you. Your room is waiting for you.” She stepped aside, allowing Evelyn entrance to the second floor.

Evelyn climbed the stairs, making sure her feet stomped as hard as possible against the fine wood. _ Imagine needing permission to enter your own bedroom. _

Her room was easy to find. It was the only door without an elegant name tag. Rowan, Jonathan and Maxwell were all written on their respective doors, each letter of their name layered in gold, emerald and diamond respectively. Being the youngest meant she had last pick and thus the smallest room. She used to complain about it as a child. She was glad she grew out of it.

Evelyn opened the door to her room. The first thing that jumped out was how barren it was. There was nothing here that any other bedroom in Thedas didn’t contain. She had brought everything of sentimental value with her to the Tower. Now, it was razed to the ground.

The one thing that caught her eye was her desk’s bookshelf. The spine of one book read, _ The Hero of Ferelden. _ It was her second copy that she kept at home, whenever she was forced to visit her parents. She traced her fingers through her books, stopping at _ The Hero of Ferelden _. She hooked her finger on the top of worn-down spine and pulled it towards her. Usually she would re-read a few passages before sleeping, but for the first time ever, she didn’t want too. Sighing, she pushed it back into place.

Evelyn collapsed onto her bed, exhaustion immediately overcoming her. She aggressively untucked the sheets and slid into them, the soft linen caressing her body. One of the few things she missed at the Tower was her bed. It was so much more comfortable compared to the rocks they slept on in the Tower. 

Despite how comfortable and tired she was, Evelyn couldn’t fall asleep. Every time she closed her eyes, the screams haunted her. Each and every time, they reminded her of what happened. Reminded her that she didn’t do anything. Reminded her that she didn’t know and might never know if her friends made it out alive. Evelyn cried herself to sleep that night. She would for awhile.

* * *

_Dear Evelyn, _

_ Greetings Evelyn! This is First Enchanter Marik, though I suppose such titles bear no meaning any longer. We are all apostates now, for better or for worse. _

_ I am sure you are quite shocked at the existence of this letter. Know that the Ostwick Tower is safe in Andoral’s Reach. It is a nice place, albeit a tad too much snow for my liking. _

_ During that awful night, the Enchanters and I managed to gather the students and lead them out of the Tower, through a hidden passage. From there, we travelled across Southern Thedas to Andoral’s Reach. It was a hazardous journey, but we are safe. The templars cannot harm us. However, I must regretfully inform you that not every mage survived that night. We lost a great many students. At the end, I have included a list of names for our fallen brothers and sisters. _

_ For many months we thought that you were among that list. But recently, we were informed that you survived and retreated to your parents’ house. It does my soul good to hear you are alive. And I hope that this letter finds you safe and sound. _

_ Although I wish I was writing to solely inform you of Ostwick’s survival, I have ulterior motives. As you most likely know, Divine Justinia has called a Divine Conclave between mages and templars. The events at this Conclave could potentially shake the foundations of Thedas. Grand Enchanter Fiona thought it would be best to send a delegation of mages, rather than the entirety of Andoral’s Reach, in case the Conclave is a trap by the templars. I believe you would be an ideal delegate for the mage cause, Evelyn. _

_ Not only are you one of the brightest mages I’ve had the fortune of teaching, but the nobility of the Trevelyan House carries great power. I believe your position would provide leverage and protection for the mages during the Conclave. The templars and Chantry would not dare make a move without inciting the wrath of the noble House Trevelyan. _

_ However, please remember that I am not pressuring you into this, nor commanding you as your teacher. As I said, we are all apostates and as one apostate to another, I request your assistance, Evelyn. The Conclave and the mages could greatly use your presence. _

_ The Conclave is a month out, so take your time. I look forward to your response. _

_ Andraste Bless you, _

_ Marik Averus of the Ostwick Tower _

Evelyn walked outside. She stood at the edge of the forest, its gaping entrance inviting her inside. Today, she declined its invitation. She focused on the stout wooden log standing on a tree stomp.

An orb of electricity started spinning in her hand. When it fully formed, Evelyn thrust her hand forward, the electrical orb shooting through the air. It struck the log, supercharging it up, flipping dozens of times. The log landed on its side in the dirt. Static ran along it.

Evelyn aimed her other arm forward, before pulling it back and clenching her fist. A blue glyph appeared under the log. Ice shot from the ground and encased the log in ice. The palm of her original hand became warm like on a nice summer day. A fireball came to life and smashed into the frozen log. It shattered into hundreds of tiny icicle particles, floating up into the air. They stayed there for awhile, before she lowered her arms. They fell harmlessly onto the ground. She would let the sun melt them.

“And here I thought our parents forbid magic.”

Evelyn excitedly turned around and ran towards the voice. “Max,” she cried out. She pulled him into a tight hug. “It’s so good to see you!”

Max patted her gently on the back like he used too when they were children. That was another thing Evelyn missed at the Tower. 

“It’s good to see you too,” Max said, chuckling.

Evelyn reluctantly pulled away from his arms, not wanting to suffocate him with her hug. She couldn’t stop herself from noticing his attire. He was wearing typical templar armor, his sword by his side. A traitorous thought entered her head. _ How much mage blood has that sword stolen? _

Max walked over to the wooden bench and sat down. He unclipped his scabbard and set it by his feet. “How’s it going?”

“Boring,” Evelyn deadpanned. “Really, really boring.” She exaggeratedly plopped down onto the bench and huffed.

Max nudged her in the shoulder and smirked all-knowingly. “You know, I could go for some boring these days.”

“Yeah, you say that now, but then you actually get it and you’ll find yourself going insane.”

“But you forget Evelyn. I am already am insane! Mainly because of you,” he added under his breath.

Evelyn rolled her eyes and punched him in the arm. He rubbed the wound, an expression of mock-pain on his face. _ Always one for the dramatics, eh? _

Max cleared his throat, something he never did. “If you are so bored Evelyn, maybe you should explore other options.”

“Which other options?”

“Oh, I don’t know… the Conclave?” Max said, smiling innocently. 

Evelyn’s shoulders sagged and she slinked into her seat. “Mom and Dad told you,” she accused.

“They might have mentioned it off-hand.”

“Of course they want me to go. ‘Be a good Andrastian and end this silly War. Then we will happily ship you back to the Ostwick Tower,’” Evelyn said, in a high-pitched regal voice mimicking her mother.

“That’s not,” Max’s eyes darted to the side, “the only reason. Mom and Dad do care about you.”

Evelyn snorted. “Yes, bribing the templars totally showed that. Money is the true source of affection.”

Max laughed and ruffled Evelyn’s hair, causing it to poof out, like a bush.

She pouted as she smothered her hair. 

“They have a hard time showing it. With their Pro-Chantry roots and all.”

“Is that the Maxwell Trevelyan defending Bann and Lady Trevelyan?”

“There’s a first for everything.”

An awkward silence descended between them, one Evelyn wasn’t sure she wanted to end. But as Evelyn learned the hard way, delaying was not the same as preventing the inevitable.

“I heard about what happened at Ostwick Tower. I’m sorry. I wish I was there,” Max spoke up. 

Evelyn kept her eyes pinpointed on her hand. She watched as sparks launched from fingertip to fingertip. It was one of the first spells she had ever learned and the day she fell in love with magic. There was nothing more exciting than being able to create something out of nothing.

“You couldn’t have done anything,” Evelyn whispered. “I think some templars tried. But they were convinced otherwise.”

“I know after Ostwick, you fe -”

“A lot of my friends died that day. Until recently, I didn’t know which ones. Now I do. A list of names is all I have to remember them by. I wonder if somewhere out there, their spirit watches and resents me. I’ve always been treated special because of my nobility. The templars didn’t want to anger Mom or Dad, so they never touched me. I survived because of my name and nothing more.”

“Is that why you don’t want to go to the Conclave? Because you’re scared of what the mages will say about you?”

“I should have been there that day. I should have stood and fought. I could have saved some of them, maybe all of them. I should be the only name on that list.”

“It’s not your fault for surviving.”

“I can’t trust templars anymore. You weren’t there that day. You didn’t hear…” Evelyn closed her eyes and trailed off. “You didn’t hear their screams. They were terrified and their only crime was wanting to live. But, none of the templars granted mercy,” she spat out. “They’re loose cannons, waiting to be fired. Whether by the Chantry or their own volition. They’re not people.” Evelyn finally turned to look at Max. “They’re demons.”

“You’re scared of them,” Max said. Evelyn didn’t reply; she didn’t need too. He gently grabbed her hands. She resisted the urge to pull away. “Evelyn, I’m about to tell you a secret about the templars. A big one. They’re just as scared of mages as mages are of them. And like children, instead of conquering their fear, they lash out and take it out on others.” She wasn’t sure who ‘they’ referred to. “The whole War is perpetuated by fear. And it's easy to start believing the other side are demons wanting to burn everything to the ground. But everyone in this War is just human and driven by their fear. I need you to remember that Evelyn.”

“I’m not scared of templars,” Evelyn said, ripping her hands away from Max. He glanced down for a moment, a masked emotion in his eyes. Fear? Anger? Hurt?

“I’m scared of you, Evelyn.”

Evelyn’s eyes widened, as if her whole world-view was shattered. “What?” she whispered, more hurt than angry.

“I’ve been on the front lines of the War. I’ve seen my fellow templars burnt to ash with a single snap of the fingers. Mages are capable of powerful things. Frightening things.”

Evelyn leaned back, having not once blinked. She could feel the tears threatening the edge of her eyes. They hurt. “You’re just another templar.”

“No,” Max nearly screamed, tightly gripping her shoulders. “This isn’t -” he paused, taking a deep breath. “This isn’t about templars or mages. A war is being waged right now; hundreds of lives are being lost because everyone is happy to pick a side. ‘Oh, templars right. Mages are right.’ But tha - that - that’s not what’s important.”

Evelyn vehemently shook her head. “The templars are the oppressors Max! We’re the victims.”

“I’m not trying to devalue the suffering of mages. At Kirkwall, Ostwick, the White Spire, or any of the terrible injustices done at any of the Circles. What mages have experienced, that can’t be justified. But this endless sea of conflict can’t be either. We need to _ understand _ each other so this War ends.”

“Maybe the War is the best thing for us.”

“For mages, sure. But if everyone thought like that, the whole world will burn until there is nothing left. No one wins a war. You only survive, Evelyn.” Max lowered his head, seemingly in defeat. He sighed and looked up once more. There was desperation in his eyes. “I don’t know if the Conclave is the solution. I don’t know if you being there will change anything. But I think we both know that the right person at the right time can change the world.”

Despite herself, Evelyn’s mind flashed to the book that sat on her desk. _ The Hero of Ferelden _. 

Max let go of one of her shoulders and pointed at himself. “I’m going to try my best to do that. I’m not fighting for templars or mages. I’m fighting so one else has to suffer.” He searched her eyes once more, but he didn’t seem to find what he was looking for. His eyes drooped in defeat. He let go of her shoulders and rose from the bench. He grabbed his sword and walked away.

After a few steps, Max stopped. He glanced over his shoulders, but Evelyn simply crossed her arms at him. “At the end of this week, I’m going to embark to the Conclave. I hope you join me.” He spoke with such visible disappointment that it shook Evelyn to her core. The Max she knew was never disappointed in her. Not even when he found out she was a mage.

Max waited, like he was hoping Evelyn would respond. But she refused to give him one. She wouldn’t answer to a templar ever again. He walked away.

After Max left, Evelyn allowed her tears to flow down her face, boiling her skin. She cried for who Max used to be.

* * *

_The Hero of Ferelden disappeared in the years following the Battle of Denerim. There have been, of course, people who have claimed to spot her in some far corner of Thedas, but none of them substantiated. As if a miracle sent by the Maker Himself, she came to our world as its last hope and faded away when the world no longer needed her._

_ There is no denying the immense impact the Hero of Ferelden had. A statue resides in Denerim and every year - on the day of the Battle of Denerim - Fereldens celebrate in her honor. They give thanks to the woman who saved them. And outside of Ferelden, nations sing to her name. They all know the Hero of Ferelden and millions are inspired by her. She is a living legend to show us what we can accomplish. _

_ And so the story of the Hero of Ferelden comes to a close. But if I may, I wish to take this story back to my humble beginnings. I was inspired to write this account because I attended one of Denerim’s celebrations. At the event, King Alistair Therin of Ferelden - alongside Queen Anora Therin of Ferelden - toasted in the Hero of Ferelden’s name. _

_ King Alistair - perhaps the foremost authority on the Hero of Ferelden - said these words to immortalize her: “Both larger than life and no different than you or I.” He would not elaborate further on these comments. _

_ But his words puzzled me and lit a fire inside my soul. One that drove me to understand the Hero of Ferelden. In my travels around Ferelden, I believe I have accomplished my mission, despite never meeting her. And I hope - my dear reader - you have come to understand her as well. _

_ I believe King Alistair's words truly capture who the Hero of Ferelden is. She wasn’t chosen to be a Hero, and by all accounts, never wanted it. But when faced with the responsibility, she accepted it regardless. Anyone can be a hero. As long as they choose to do what is right, fight for those who cannot fight for themselves and strive towards peace most of all. _

_ Of all the legendary heroes in Thedas’s storied history, I believe the Hero of Ferelden was the most deserving. _

** _**_\- Epilogue _**_of_ **_The Hero of Ferelden_**_ **

Evelyn closed the heavy book, sighing. The author’s final passage was eerily similar to what Max had told her earlier. _ The right person at the right time can change the world. I’ll be fighting so no one else has to suffer. _

If she went to the Conclave, that meant templars wouldn’t suffer. They deserved to! They had to… _ But is the cost worth it? _

Magic flowed through her blood. Fire, ice and electricity were at her command. A “gift” as the Enchanters called magic. And here she was, sitting in her room wasting it. She should be doing something! Just like at the Tower.

Mages, her friends, were still out there. Laying down their lives to deliver justice to the templars. They were the one who paid the cost.

_ It’s time I did something _ . She would never agree with the Conclave. _ But it was still the right thing to do _.

By the end of the week, Evelyn tossed her meager belongings into a small backpack. If she needed anything else, Evelyn could buy it on the road to the Conclave. It was going to be a long and harrowing journey, but nothing compared to Ostwick’s journey to Andoral’s Reach.

At the crack of dawn, Evelyn slung her backpack over her shoulders. She blew out the lights to her room, knowing whatever happened, she wouldn’t be coming back. Softly, she closed the door behind her. It dully clicked, nothing like the ecstatic pitch of her room in the Tower. She walked through the large halls of her mansion, once more taking in the beautiful architecture and Chantry paintings. Taking a deep breath, she exited the second floor and walked down the spiraling staircase. Each step was quiet, but confident. Max and her parents were in the lobby, saying their goodbyes.

Max spotted her as he exited their mother’s embrace. He broke into a wide grin. “Evelyn,” he called out. At the mention of her name, their parents flinched back and watched her, as if she was a ghost. 

Evelyn reached the base of the stairs. She announced, “I’m going to the Conclave too.”

Lady Trevelyan courteously nodded at her. “A wise decision, Evelyn.”

“Yes I wholeheartedly agree,” Bann Trevelyan said, stroking his beard.

“Right,” Evelyn muttered, taking her place at her brother’s side. He draped an arm around her.

“The journey is going to be a lot more fun now,” Max said.

“Yes,” Lady Trevelyan dismissively said. Then to the utter astonishment of Evelyn, she turned towards her for a hug. Evelyn numbly retreated into them. Her mother was surprisingly warm, like the fire she could produce in her hands. “Take care of yourself and your brother, Evelyn.”

Bann Trevelyan placed a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, we hope to hear good news from the Conclave.”

Evelyn tilted her head down. _ Why now? _ She dismissed the question. It didn’t matter anymore. “Thanks,” she mumbled. Her parents both nodded, perhaps a sense of pride in their eyes. Or maybe, Evelyn was still idiotically hoping for something that she knew would never happen. 

Shortly, Max and Evelyn waved goodbye and headed out of the door. A carriage greeted them. Templar Cadan maned it.

_ Just have to deal with him until the Waking Sea. It’ll be fine_, Evelyn told herself.

Once seated in the back of the carriage, Max asked, “So what made you change your mind?”

She dropped her head, before looking into the horizon. The rays of the sun stared back at her. “I’m going to help the mages. I don’t want anymore of my friends suffering.”

Max gave her a tight smile. “Not exactly what I was getting at earlier, but an admirable goal nonetheless.” Alongside Evelyn, he gazed towards the distance. His eyes readily showed his hope for a better future. “To the Conclave, we go.”

**Author's Note:**

> Above quote is from Ernest Hemingway.  
If I ever find the time to start a Dragon Age Inquisition Fic, this sets the stage for the ideas I want to explore in it.  
As always, thanks for reading!


End file.
